


Problematic Communication

by QueenEchidna



Series: Believe it or not Mercenaries have Feelings Too [4]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bromance, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pyro calls Scout 'Boston' and it's kind of cute, mute!Pyro, scout/pyro bromance, suggested spy/pyro romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEchidna/pseuds/QueenEchidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friendship isn't limited to race, religion, lifestyle, or language. Two people may become friends instantly, or perhaps realize how close they are after a long time of acquaintanceship, and maybe they can become friends through talking about their differences.<br/>However, two people can become friends even if one of them has no voice to offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The guilt-ridden lad

**Author's Note:**

> _Hello, I've been sick the past couple days and I began working on this. Scout/Pyro is an adorable ship that I don't believe gets the credit it's due, so this will be a multiple-chapter fic for the Scout/Pyro bromance-genre, however you can look at it as a budding romance if you'd like, nothing is set in stone. Multiple ships hinted or implied. :)_

.1.

He had known the Pyro for…how long now? Almost a year, and he doesn’t know jack-shit about his fellow teammate; hell he knows more about Spy than he does the Firebug. Scout seems a bit more antsy than usual as he meanders down the hallway from Respawn, a set plan in his mind is keeping him from being the excitable kid he normally is. He made a decision that day, after a certain incident, to have a chat with their Pyro; the masked hero had swooped in and saved Scout’s ass a few times, once from a couple of the BLU Demo’s grenades, another from the BLU Spy. The other occasional rescues slip his mind but he knows he at least owes Pyro a big thanks.

It takes a while but Scout finally finds Pyro in the back of their Turbine base, sat on top of one of the industrial-sized shipping containers that no one exactly knows what’s in them. The Firebug seems busy tinkering with his flare gun, and his hammer sits at his side, a few scuffs waiting to be buffed out. With a deep breath and a push of courage Scout launches himself up to a shorter crate then onto the large one Pyro is sitting on; it’s challenging for Scout, and he can’t help but wonder how the flying-fuck Pyro got up here. 

The masked mercenary turns around with interest at the clang of the Bostonian’s cleats hitting the metal, seeing who it is he offers a friendly wave. “Hey there Sparky,” Scout smirks as he takes a seat to Pyro’s left with a grunt. “What’cha up to?”

Setting the flare gun in his lap, Pyro shrugs, having no real answer to give. He follows up by scrunching his fingers on each hand together before bringing both his hands together and turning them against one-another, and then points at Scout and shrugs again.

_‘How are you?’_

The look scout gives him is one of pure befuddlement and confusion and somewhat visually deflates. It makes him angry, in hind sight, that he can’t understand the Firebug, and he suddenly realizes that that reason alone is probably the only thing that has prevented Scout from ever trying to get to know him in the past. That and a blanket of guilt from the first month or two of working on the RED team together when Scout made it a personal goal to use his signature Boston loudmouth to berate Pyro for not talking, spewing out insults even the toughest of his brother’s would applaud; and he now feels like an absolute douchebag for it.

“Look, I can’t understand ya’ dude. But I wanted to say thanks for savin’ my ass earlier. Saved me a lot of grief.” Scout smirks, his fingers tracing the wrapping on his other hand subconsciously. Pyro’s shoulders shift up and down as if he were laughing but there is barely an audible noise, and it certainly does not sound like a laugh. He lifts his right hand and flips it down to in front of his middle, palm facing upwards and nods. 

_‘You’re welcome.’_

Scout sighs, it looked like such a simple motion, why the fuck can’t he understand it? 

_I know you don’t get what I’m saying Boston, but there’s nothing to thank me for. Just part of the job, I wouldn’t-_

“Yeah, and by the way…” Scout sits up a bit straighter, his eyes locked onto his dangling feet. “I’m uh, sorry about all that time I was an ass-hat to ya’. Like…” He growls quietly, annoyed with himself. “I was a total douchebag to ya’. I made fun of you because you couldn’t fuckin’ talk and that just wasn’t cool of me, alright? I mean, I wasn’t the only one yeah, but…” A sudden burst of guilt and boldness gives Scout the drive to flip his torso to face his slightly shorter teammate. “My ma’ taught me what’s right, and what I did was far from right. And I’m sorry, real sorry.” His voice softens and he pulls back into himself, eagerly awaiting the Firebug’s response. Another long string of signs just pulls another deep sigh from the Bostonian youth, aggravated that he can’t understand, angry at himself for being stupid. “Dammit man, I don’t know what you’re sayin’…” Scout admits in defeat, planting his head between his hands. 

“If I may be of help for a moment,” The French accented voice of Spy chimes in as he appears next to his two youngest teammates. Both Scout and Pyro seem surprised by his presence but are silent as Pyro finishes the sign and Spy clears his throat. “Yes, ‘e is saying; _‘Do not worry Scout. I am not mad at you, and I ‘ave not ‘eld a grudge. What you said then made me angry, but what everyone did was possibly worse. Especially this douchebag ‘ere who-‘_ Hey,” Spy smirks, nudging Pyro’s arm; the Frenchman sighs, “Yes especially me, I was exceptionally more inconsiderate to our Firebug, but I ‘ave apologized many times. He ‘as not ‘eld it against me.” He admits, taking a drag from his cigarette. Pyro does another set of signs and looks up to Spy expectantly, who actually looks surprised. 

“ _Êtes-vous sûr?_ ” Spy wonders aloud, directing the question in Pyro’s direction. The fire-wielder nods and throws a thumbs-up for assurance. “Okay. Pyro says you and he should get to know each other,” Another breath followed by a puff of smoke, “He’d like to teach you American Sign Language.” Once that is said Pyro looks at Scout and nods, picking up his flare-gun and distracting his fingers by fiddling with the familiar figure.

Scout’s eyebrows raise and the set of dark blue eyes they hover over dart from Spy to Pyro in a show of surprise, caught off-guard by the offer; it was unexpected but Scout, while hesitant about the learning process, accepted the idea of being taught sign language. He smiles, and begins to realize how closed-off he’s been about most of his team, especially with Pyro. “Yeah man, that’d be cool…s’long as you’re willin’ to put up with my bullcrap.” He rubs the back of his head and looks back at his feet.

“Yes…are you okay with that? _Vous n'avez pas besoin de perdre votre temps._ ” Spy begins mumbling directly at Pyro, flicking some ash from his cigarette off the side of the holding container. Pyro shakes his head in an exasperated manner, already tired of Spy’s over cautiousness and nudges him aside. But the quick motion causes his partially-assembled flare-gun to discharge; the shot barely misses Pyro but does tumble behind him and ignites itself there. 

“Woah, geez!” Scout freaks out, scooting away from the ignition. The Firebug flips backwards trying to grab the shell to throw it out of the way, which he does successfully, but also manages to slide off and fall about 15 feet to the ground. _God-fucking-dammit._ Spy is by his side faster than Scout thought anyone could get off the crates, and he follows worriedly. 

_What was that noise? That was a bone…yep, that was definitely my leg, fucking wonderful._

Pyro groans silently, pushing himself up on his elbows, only vaguely registering how his right leg is twisting all wrong. He feels a set of hands grip his shoulders and Spy jumps into his field of vision, one which is limited by his optical mask. “ _Est-ce que ça va?_ ” Spy asks somewhat frantically, kneeling by the Firebug’s side and keeping a hand on his shoulder. Pyro waves his hand dismissively and tries to push himself up, but is forced back down by the sting in his leg.

“Aw crap, Pyro dude are you alright, man?” Scout skids into the frame and stands near the other two, not knowing what to do but worried nonetheless. Spy jerks himself to his feet and turns towards the young Bostonian.

Realizing his fag is nothing but a fraction of what it was, Spy flicks it away and sighs, “Non, I will get Medic, you try to get him towards the medbay without ‘urting him further, got it?” He snaps before rushing off back into the personal quarters to fetch the German doctor and have him prepare for Pyro’s arrival. Scout hesitates a moment, standing over the Firebug, unsure of what to do; though he finally bends down and pulls the shorter mercenary’s arm around his shoulder and hefts them both back up to their feet. 

As they make their way back into the base, Scout smirks, “Start to a great friendship, huh Sparky?” He hears the same, barely inaudible laugh from behind the gas mask, followed by a strained noise as he accidentally puts pressure on his mangled leg. 

_Sure is Boston, heh…fuck this hurts._


	2. A lesson in sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout proves to be a little more attentive than he gives himself credit for, and Sniper continues to assure everyone how silently observant he is, and Pyro is overtly-surprised by them both.

.2.

“Hold still Pyro, I can’t fix this if you keep squirming!” Medic scolds through his teeth, trying to grab onto his younger teammate’s leg, which was continuously moving out of his reach. Pyro shakes his head, signing over and over again _‘It hurts, don’t touch it!’_ and scooting back further on the medical berth. The resident doctor sighs, stepping back and pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _Oh mein Gott_ somebody, _bitte_ , get him to shtop!” He turns his steely, blue gaze to Spy, apparently assuming he could get some handle on the Firebug. 

Said Frenchman shrugs, eyebrows lifting as he takes a shallow drag of his cigarette and blows out the smoke. “I do not control ‘im,” He flicks some ash over his shoulder onto god-knows-what and stands unmoving with his arms crossed. Medic’s eyes narrow dangerously though he somehow refrains from barring his teeth like one of the obscure wild animal Sniper constantly rambles about hunting, however the German manages to cross his arms as well and makes sure Spy understands to listen with nothing more than that deathly stare. 

“Ah, _oui._ ” Spy nods, tearing his gaze away from the, surprisingly, intimidating man in front of him and over to the not-so-intimidating fire-wielder on the berth next to them. “Pyro,” Medic watches in a begrudging form of interest as the saboteur does a few intricate movements with his hands, Pyro begins making motions as well before Spy even finishes his own. _They are arguing?_ Medic concludes with a further degree of fascination. He cannot help but wonder how on Earth they are having a conversation without saying a word, with those absurd hand-motions that look like nothing more than a severe nervous twitch; it confuses, and appeals to his curious nature simultaneously. 

“Scout, _komm hier._ ” Medic beckons for the Bostonian, who has been standing uncharacteristically silently off to the side. Seemingly caught off-guard by Medic’s voice, Scout gives him an odd look before taking the few paces over to the taller man. “You have no need to stay, you got Pyro here your job is done.” He sighs, “And at zis rate I’ll be tranquilizing the _kleines Feuer…_ ” 

Spy and Pyro seem to stop signing so significantly as Spy reaches forward to put a hand on the Firebug’s shoulder, “Yes… _ça va?_ ” Pyro gives a small nod and sits back on the medical berth, pushing his mangled leg out as straight as possible. Medic takes the initiative to leave Scout’s side and reaches for his tools again, steadying the younger mercenary’s leg under his hand; he begins by numbing the area with a sterilized needle filled with fluid, which Pyro reacts to with nothing more than a twitch in his leg. 

Scout stands by trying to see what Medic is doing with vague interest, inching further to the left to see around him. The German manages to trap Pyro’s injured leg between two braces, setting the broken bones into the correct positioning even with the thick, rubber chem suit in the way; Pyro flinches a bit more considerably at the motions, gripping the edges of the bed. Medic moves over to his Medigun mounted to the ceiling and fires a few shots at Pyro’s leg and takes note when a fresh snapping sound alerts him to the corrected bones. “Zere, vas zhat so hard?” He manages a grin, one cockier than anything else; he had been right, it didn’t take long. 

Pyro sits up and manages to get the splint off his leg, shifting it around at the knee to test its viability, finding with an unseen grin that it is fixed. “Alright, so you fixed now ‘er what?” Scout asks noisily, springing to life and appearing suddenly by the medical berth. “You gonna teach me the,” he does a crude interpretation of a hand-sign, spinning his hands around one-another. “The sign-language stuff?” 

The Firebug nods and turns to look at Spy, still standing with his arms crossed next to the bed and blowing smoke rings. He glides his hand forward a bit, “ _Aller._ ” A small smile pulls the corners of his mouth up, and the two youngest dash out.

“So,” Scout hums as he and Pyro enter the halls, walking towards the common area of the RED base. “How exactly are ya’ plannin’ on teaching me, considerin’ I can’t understand ya’ as is.” His voice rises back to its typical annoying octave and he fiddles carelessly with his bat, swinging it around in his hands, balancing it on his palm. Pyro raises a finger and digs into his oversized pocket, pulling out a charred black marker and a pad of paper; he scribbles something down and hands it to the Bostonian, exchanging it for his bat which the Firebug begins to examine.

_-I can’t talk but I can still fucking write.-_

Scout shrugs, and notices Pyro looking his Louisville Slugger over with vague interest, picking at one of the few teeth lodged on the wood. “Heh, that bats got a funny story behind it. It’s bashed more heads than any other melee weapon _anyone_ has ever owned.” He grabs it back before the fire-wielder can pull out the ‘trophies’ and runs his own hand over it, seemingly reminiscent of every major concussion it’s caused and just how much blunt-force-trauma the other team’s Medic has had to deal with thanks to Scout and his bat; it makes him smile in an odd kind of childlike adoration, even towards an inanimate object. Another note is scribbled underneath the initial one with haste.

_-You should tell me your many stories of head-wrecking sometime. Engineer and Spy are about the only ones who ever talk to me, so the conversation would be welcome.-_

“Really…?” Scout murmurs with surprise; for some odd reason he had assumed Pyro got along with everyone else, the thought most-probably due to his guilt-trip making him imagine things. Because in all-actuality Pyro never takes off his suit (Scout assumes Engineer, Spy, and Medic have some inkling of what the Firebug looks like), and can’t talk to anyone because…well fuck he can’t talk. Scout chuckles a bit, thinking about what similar situations he and the Pyro share, except Scout is just annoying-as-fuck to everyone, and he knows he is, he makes it his favorite pastime when he’s not bonking heads. “Yeah man, I’d love tellin’ ya’ my stories, s’long as I can ask you a couple questions.” The Boston youth swings is bat up and taps Pyro’s chest matter-of-fact, raising an eyebrow to go along with his sly grin. 

_Cleaver kid aren’t ja’ Scout?_

Pyro nods and nudges the bat away from his chest, jotting down yet another note on the paper, his neat handwriting impaired slightly by the constant movement as they walk.

 _-Okay Boston, fair deal.-_

Finally the two reach the common area and take a seat on the oversized sofa, Pyro scooting back and crossing his legs to face Scout, who pulls one knee up to his chest and tosses his headset onto the ground with his bag. Sniper is present as well, sat in his favorite chair making a constant scrapping sound as he runs a sharpening stone, one older than he is, over his beloved Kukri. He pays his two younger teammates no heed, merely taking a glance up with minimal interest as they sit down, before returning to his own business.

Pyro takes the initiative to scribble down another note, his clean handwriting apparent now that he isn’t moving.

_-Alright Boston, ASL isn’t too-hard to learn once you get the hang of it. Some people may try and tell you that each movement means something in relation to what it actually means, that’s not always true; sometimes you just have to wave your hands around like an idiot and trust that what you’re saying is what the sign means.-_

 

Scout reads the note and can’t help a lighthearted laugh as it passes his lips, “Well all of it looks like you’re just wavin’ your hands around pointlessly, but hey you’re the teach’.” He tosses the pad of paper back at Pyro and leans against the back of the couch and waits. 

Three or so hours later Scout runs his hand through his messy, dark-colored hair for what seems like the millionth time; his hands fucking hurt, how the fuck does Pyro do this all the time. The Firebug taps the Bostonian on the forehead to get his attention again and holds up his index finger, only to have Scout push his hand back down and turn away. “I’m not getting’ this man…” He mumbles, his fingers scrapping his scalp and creating unseen red streaks under his hair. 

_No, no Boston you’ve got it, I noticed! Just-…fuck it!_

He grabs for the paper and throws down a sloppy sentence of his thought.

_-No Boston, you do get it, you just don’t realize you do!-_

Scout shakes his head again and pushes the paper away after reading it, insisting he can’t understand, and becoming more agitated when Pyro signs something at him.

Pyro sighs, shifting his optical mask around and forcefully turns Scout’s head back to face him; he isn’t going to let this kid bullshit himself. He raises his right hand flat-palmed towards the other mercenary, moving it back to make a pinching gesture against his mask, before finishing up the sign by making a raking-motion around the same area a couple times.

“Nah man, I ain’t brushing my fucking hair! What the hell does that have to do with anything?” The runner snaps back after the Firebug finishes his sign. It takes a minute before Scout realizes he had correctly identified the sign Pyro had offered him, and he turned slowly to face a beaming Pyro (as well as one can beam with a gas mask on). “I…I did it?” He smiles, with a great feeling of accomplishment falling over him as the fire-wielder-turned ASL teacher throws a thumbs-up his way. 

“So,” A new voice springs up from the otherwise silence of the common room. Scout and Pyro turn to acknowledge Sniper, who leans forward in his chair with his hands out in contemplation. “If I do this…” The Australian hesitantly touches his right hand to his chest, then holds his index and middle fingers together on each hand and taps them together in front of him; with a moment of attempted maneuvering he finishes by making a circular shape with both his hands, and carefully (and very slowly) finger-spells out S-N-I-P-E-R. 

_’My name is Sniper’._

He looks up expectantly to the Pyro, his glasses hiding any unsure look he may have in his eyes.

_You observant fuck, I wasn’t even teaching you and you got it better than Scout!_

Pyro can’t help but laugh silently, and nod, a sense of…something along the lines of pride and accomplishment welling up inside him. Scout hasn’t stopped smiling to himself, continuously does a few of the short signs he learned; his favorite is being how he knows how to finger-spell his name, rather quickly considering his lack of practice, though his fingers do occasionally get jumbled together. The Firebug just sits there smiling to himself like an unseen doofus. 

_Maybe I will get to talk to these idiots after all…_


	3. Who can be trusted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad happenings fall on Scout that force him to question what he thinks is friendship, and what he thinks he knows.

.3.

All he can truly register is a persistent ringing in his ears that is keeping him from focusing well-enough on the battle at hand, distracting him with its nagging annoyance constantly forcing him to shake his head to try in vain to eliminate the fuzz hovering in his skull. “Fuck,” Scout curses, pushing himself forward just a few more feet before diving into the Resupply area and into temporary safety. The cold ground is welcoming and comfortable against his blazing skin, and the smell of cleanser and gunpowder proves to be a securing scent in his nostrils, wafting up into his sensory net and spurring up a sense of safety. 

No one else is in the room at the moment, and Scout finds himself thanking the god his mother always told him about that no one else is present, less he be embarrassed about dolphin diving into the goddamn Resupply room with a scorch mark on his ass. He heaves himself up with a grunt and leans against one of the large cabinets, reaching in to pull out one of his sodas RED keeps around for him; chugging it down in haste, the Bostonian takes a moment to sit down and rips out a bullet that got stuck in the top layers of his shoulder. Rotating his shoulder after the initial stinging pain, Scout cannot help but recall a time a month or so ago when he was restrained by Heavy while Medic ripped a few bullets out from deep in his arm; he specifically remembers the pain and telling Medic to…something along the lines of _”Go eat a giant bag of dicks you physco.”_

__Finally feeling rejuvenated enough to run; Scout reloads his Scattergun and jumps out of Resupply, sprinting back through the hallways and onto a balcony overlooking one of the inner sanctuaries. There is no one there, not even Engineer with a sentry, which is odd considering how far they are into the battle; this is their last capped point, they need people on defense. “What the…” Scout mumbles, jumping down with a thud and scanning the large room with his eyes. Nobody, fucking _nobody_ anywhere to be seen; there’s no way they’re out fighting, not all of them…right? _ _

__The distant rev of a minigun proves that at least his entire team hasn’t disappeared off the face of Turbine, but where the fuck is everybody?_ _

__Deciding that idling around isn’t the way to find his team, Scout gets back up to the balcony and runs through the empty corridors until he skids to a halt when he sees a familiar figure posed at a window with a familiar rifle with its scope held against his eye. “Hey Stretch,” Scout steps closer to Sniper, startling him out of his stance._ _

__“Crickey kid don’t do that, wot are you doin’ back here?” The Australian takes the time to stretch out his shoulders, the joints cracking after the constant strain of lifting his rifle._ _

__“Yeah, I’m wonderin’ where the flying-fuck everyone is!” The youth snaps, leaning his shoulder against the wall and looking out onto the open warehouse; still nobody in sight, save for Sniper next to him._ _

__Sniper pinches the bridge of his nose, “Out on the front lines ya’ gumby, wot do ya’ think?” He doesn’t hesitate as he raises his rifle scope up to his eye again, just in time to catch the BLU Spy walking in by one of the shipping containers; he’s taken care of with a well-placed shot to the head. “Where you should be,” He lowers his gun again, “So git!”_ _

__With that the Scout shuffles off, curious as to find the rest of his team and cause a skull-fracture or two if the situation allows for it. He makes it out of the large, industrial-sized doors and there is still no one in sight, no REDs or BLUs and Scout inwardly curses. This isn’t how a battle is supposed to go, he’s supposed to be able to run through a hoard of the enemy, smashing heads with his bat or blasting away with his Scattergun, not running around just trying to _find_ somebody. _ _

__Finally, loud and obtrusive against the otherwise calm ambiance, the sound of a flamethrower burning through the air nearby points Scout in the right direction. Sure enough he turns the corner at just the right time to nearly plow-down the RED Pyro, who drops his flamethrower as he stumbles backwards. “Sparky, man here I thought you all _did_ disappear!” The Bostonian grins, clapping his friend on the back. He reaches down to pick up his flamethrower for the Firebug, but nearly snaps his back once he tugs, expecting something light-weight and finding just how much a 100-pound flamethrower weighs. “Damn, how do ya’ carry that thing around?” Scout asks in befuddlement as he watches Pyro lift the machine with little more than a sharp breathe through the mask-filter; once it’s in his grasp, Pyro just shrugs. _ _

__Finally Scout takes notice of the gash in his friend’s side and upper leg, “Woah man, you alright? You need me to get Medic?” What a stupid question, he sighs in exasperation with himself; of course he fucking needs Medic. The Firebug sets down his flamethrower and raises his index fingers on both hands and points them towards one-another a couple times, before lowering his left hand and motioning his still-pointed right hand in the direction of his shoulder, then down to the gash on his side._ _

___’It hurts here…’_ _ _

__Scout takes s moment processing it, and once he does he nods, “Yeah man, I can imagine.” The young runner brings up both his hands, swinging his right hand down in a chopping-motion down in-between the index and middle fingers of his left hand._ _

___’Let’s take a break.’_

“Heh, I hope I got that right. Anyway let’s get you back to Resupply to heal up,” Scout insists, turning his back to peer around the corner from where he came-from. “It should be an easy run back, no problem for you oka-- **ahn**!” The ache pings through him in agonizing, slow waves of crippling pain, and he’s on his knees before he can tell his quaking body otherwise. He fails in his attempt to stand and he ends up against the wall built-up next to him, firstly noticing the blood soaking his front, and darkening his already red shirt. “P-Pyro…?” Scout chokes out the weak word, dribbling past his lips along with a stream of scarlet blood. He turns, his body shaking like a leaf, and feeling just as fragile as one; he finds the form of his friend, of the RED Pyro, with a shotgun in his hand, just as a cloud of blue smoke engulfs him. 

“You are an easy one to trick, _mon ami._ ” The BLU Spy now stands where the Firebug just was, kicking away the false flamethrower in another puff of smoke. He re-loads his gun, a strangely familiar shotgun that Scout knows for a fact is not the Spy’s; in fact the saboteur takes notice of the quizzical look aimed at the gun itself, and he smirks. “Ah yes, I got zis off your Soldier. It is useful but,” He tosses the relatively large gun to the side nonchalantly, “It iz not my kind of weapon. Too loud, too sloppy.” The Spy pulls out his own gun, his ivory-encrusted revolver, and aims it at Scout’s head. “Can’t get ze job done.”

There’s a bang, and a fleeting remembrance of signing to who he thought was Pyro, and then his world goes dark.

It is only an hour later and Pyro is freaking-the-fuck-out.

_Oh my fuck, Scout I swear to whatever god still resides over us if you don’t get up within the next 5 minutes I’m going to wake you up and kill you again!_

For what seems like the 5th time within the last five minutes the Firebug grabs onto the still-unconscious Scout and shakes him violently, only to have Medic shoo him away again. “ _Nein_ , give him space, he’ll be fine if you let him come-to on his own.” The German snaps, pushing his younger teammate away again.

Pyro signs something, and Medic cannot understand a single motion so he turns to Spy, who is once again standing by; though this time he is away from the others present, and throwing a few heated words at Sniper, who looks completely exasperated. The saboteur sighs, blowing out a puff of white smoke from his lips, and turning in time to see and translate the sign. “‘e is wondering if you’re sure Scout will be alright.”

To that the doctor sighs, running a hand through his hair exasperatedly, not reacting as Pyro returns to Scout’s side. “Vell, _er ernährt sich vollwertig…_ ” Medic mumbles in his native tongue, more to-himself than to either of the other two mercenaries in the Medical Bay. “So his immune system should cope with any infections, and I’ve done vhat I can, so he should be alright…” It is more of a question, spoken silently to himself. As he finishes the sentence, Heavy walks into the Medical Bay carrying a small vile uncharacteristically delicately in his hand. 

“Doktor, I have the medicine.” The Russian smiles, graciously handing the vile of Lidocaine over to his teammate, who takes it with a grateful nod. 

“ _Danke_ Heavy,” He places the vile on a table next to the berth Scout is on just in time for the young runner to stir into consciousness. Pyro is quite happy when his friend sits up and immediately curses the pain, getting a quick explanation in regards to why he was still in such pain; one that involved their buggy Respawn system leaving him with the shotgun-blast in his midsection and nearly killing him. “ _Wie fühlst du dich heute?_ ” Medic asks, trying to sound more concerned than he actually is, realizing only a moment later that the crumpled-nose sneer the Scout gives him is because the Bostonian does not, in-fact, speak German. “How do you feel, _Dummkopf._ ” He corrects himself, allowing the slightest hint of a smirk to cross his thin lips. 

“Oh, why the hell didn’t ya’ just say that? I’m fine I ‘spose,” Scout admits, bringing his hand up to gently trace the bandages across his midsection. A tug at his arm causes the runner to turn to his right and take notice of the Pyro; a visual memory flashes across his vision of the last few moment before his latest death. 

He was talking to Pyro, yes, they were signing to each other, and Pyro was injured. Scout turned his back to find a clear path back into base, then pain, startling, unexpected pain paralyzed him. Pyro…Pyro shot him!...No, not Pyro, it couldn’t have been Pyro. Spy, it was the enemy Spy, right? He remembers looking down the barrel of a gun before everything went dark, but who was behind it…it couldn’t have been Pyro, no it couldn’t have been; Scout has to believe it was Spy. It wasn’t Pyro, it wasn’t Pyro. It. Was. Not. Pyro.

Scout snaps from his momentary stupor and tears his eyes open and is met with the large-goggled stare of the RED Firebug; it startles him, but he tries not to show it. Pyro makes a circular-motion over his chest with his right hand then closes all his fingers side-by-side on both hands, he touches his closed finger chuckles on his opposing hands together and turns them in a twisting-motion and finishes by shrugging.

_‘How do you feel?’_

After a moment of him opening and closing his mouth without any sound coming out, Scout straightens himself out and clears his throat. “Uh…uhm fine, thanks.” He doesn’t make any further eye-contact with the Pyro, he cannot. _I’ve been killed countless numbers of times, this is bullshit I ain’t scarred of my own fucking friend._

But it did; the temporary death scarred him beyond the recognition of his previous deaths. He had seen Pyro shoot him, and it eerily reminded him of watching more than one of his brothers get shot by their so-called ‘friends’ back home in Boston, because of things so stupid and trivial. 

Scout takes a glance back up at Pyro, then to Medic and Heavy chatting idly nearby, then to the whispered-argument of Sniper and Spy off behind Pyro, he can’t make out what they’re saying but he cannot seem to care. His brain still swims with the hazy remnants of his last moments, his mind still trying to work out what happened, trying to give factual evidence to something obscure.

The runner breathes in deeply and rests his head back on the berth; it was not Pyro, he knows it was BLU Spy. But…he watched Sniper kill the Spy only a minute before; he could not have Respawned that quickly. Then it must have been Pyro. No. No it couldn’t be Pyro, not his own teammate…his friend. 

Scout growls at his own thoughts, kicking himself internally for being so befuddled; it is bringing up a damning headache and even more questions he wants answers to.

_Dammit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me how the BLU Spy was able to fire the gun while he was disguised. It's far beyond my field of knowledge. :) Hope you enjoyed.


	4. A Grand Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, so here we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I indulge a small bit in my Spy/Pyro this chapter, but let us see if our Scout/Pyro bromance can be fixed.  
> And be prepared for some spontaneous Spy heroics.

.4.

_What did I do? Dammit Boston just fucking talk to me again._

Pyro knocks again on Scout’s door, hoping, _praying_ that the runner will open this time around; no such luck. Admitting defeat, Pyro slumps over and walks away, planting himself on the couch next to a drunk, and semi-conscious Demoman. The Scott takes notice of his _”wee little friend”_ and straightens himself out, “Ey laddie,” He stretches out his arms, consequentially knocking an empty bottle of Scrumpy onto the floor. “What’s got ‘ya so down? You aren’t the type o’ guy to go an’ get upset fer no reason.” His friendly smile and good-natured nudge to Pyro’s arm bring the smallest hint of a smile to the fire-wielder’s unseen visage. 

He just shrugs, grabbing his Home-wrecker from the floor, he doesn’t remember leaving it here but assumes Engineer probably found it lying around and brought it back in. It is still scuffed and damaged, and it is obvious Pyro never got around to fixing it up after the little incident a few days ago. “Yer upset about your buddy Scout aren’t ja’ lad?” Pyro turns his gaze to Demo, who he sees throwing back another swig of whatever strange concoction he keeps in that damn bottle. “Don’t be beatin’ yourself around the bush, he’s a tough little bugger. Whatever happened is history, an’ he’s gonna be alright.” He claps the Firebug on the back and takes another long swig. 

_Doesn’t exactly answer my question. Why was he so freaked out? He was…fucking scared of me the moment he woke up. I stayed there for hours until his injured ass woke up and once he does he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me!_

Pyro stands up and leaves the common area, headed towards the base’s inner hallways; eventually his aimless trek leads him to in front of Engineer’s workshop. He knocks halfheartedly on the door and waits for a moment until the short, stocky form of the team’s resident genius appears in the doorframe, a welcoming smile on his face. “Hey Pyro, what can I do ya’ for?” Engie asks, wiping his hands on his overalls and taking his goggles off. Seeing Pyro’s less-than-exuberant stance Engineer frowns and steps forward to place a hand on his shoulder worriedly. “What’s wrong partner?” 

Pyro signs _S-C-O-U-T_ and crosses on arm over his middle to grab his other arm defensively, looking downcast and unsure. “Well, I’m sure Scout will be fine. He’s just had a tough run. Now I wish I could talk more buddy, but I’ve got a lot of stuff to get done before tomorrow.” He assures before shutting the door. Pyro doesn’t mind, he doesn’t want to bother the mechanic if he is busy; but he hasn’t been able to find Spy all day and he’s plum out of people to try and talk to.

_Maybe I did something to offend him. I never signed anything that could have done so. Perhaps he misinterpreted my signs and thinks I yelled at him. No that couldn’t be it. Fuck! Maybe he just doesn’t like me anymore…_

Again he begins to wander around the base, no definite destination and no goal in mind; his mind works for a long time, trying to figure out why Scout would be acting so distant and cold, but after a while he just stops thinking and his mind goes blank. His legs aimlessly guide themselves through the base, his mind only registering the soft beating of his rubber boots against the linoleum floors. After who-knows-how-long of wandering, Pyro stops, checking a busted up clock near the Resupply room; almost 1 in the morning. Well he missed dinner; he vaguely remembers Soldier yelling about it over the base speakers, followed shortly by a more worried sounding Engie talking directly to Pyro over the intercom, wondering where the Firebug was. 

Pyro sighs, sitting down within the Resupply room, blanketed in the still harsh fluorescent light; he notices his spare flamethrower in the corner, attached into his storage cupboard by a loose clip to the wall. There’s a quiet plink from some leaking pipe somewhere in the open ceiling of the room, it is overpowered by the quiet rumble of Pyro’s empty stomach, and each sound fills the otherwise eerily silent room. He doesn’t move, his limbs hurt, and he’s confused…yeah, he’s fucking confused. 

Scout does the same sign he had a thousand times tonight; lifting the pointer fingers on both of his hands and tapping them together once, then flipping their positions and tapping them together again.

 _’Friend.’_

He does the same sign again, then again and again; once or twice he stops and laughs at how paranoid he is, then fingerspells P-Y-R-O, then continues the previous sign. “He is my friend…” Scout sighs, noticing the clock on the table next to his bed; it is 1:10 in the goddamn morning and he can’t even manage to close his eyes without getting startled. “I saw Pyro shoot me yes…but the enemy Spy was there too? But Sniper had just shot him, he couldn’t have been there.” The runner mumbles to himself, leaning back against the cold wall and running his calloused palm over his face.  
He shuts his eyes, his mind drifting out of consciousness, able to ignore the pain in his chest for a fleeting moment.

_Fire, all around him. He panics, running through the blazing inferno and ignoring the flames clawing at his skin, gripping tight to his clothes. The runner can’t run fast enough for the first time in his short life, and soon enough he is surrounded by flames. There’s blood running down his face and from a large hole in his chest, but there is no pain, there is no sound other that the crackle of fire, and there is no one else there to help him in the blazing inferno of his home. Is it even his home? He cannot tell, the walls; he reaches out to touch the blazing surface of a nearby wall; it instantly disappears in a flutter of color and is replaced with a barricade of fire. He screams, but there is no sound. He turns and runs back through the hall, dodging the flames and fighting through the crippling fear that holds steadfast to his tortured soul. “Duncan?!” He screams into the red and white flames. His brother; where the fuck is his brother?_

_He’s running again, this time slower, and there is a new sound; a moan sneaking through the roar of a collapsing house. Scout rams down the nearest door and throws his watering eyes in each direction, trying desperately to locate his brother, one only a year or so older than he. And indeed, Duncan is trapped under a fallen support beam in his own room, clawing at the floor in an attempt to get out. Scout slides over to him, yanking his arms and assuring his sibling things would be okay. When pulling does not work, he throws himself at the beam trapping Duncan and pushes with all his might. A mere 16 years of age, and 120 pounds; Scout simply does not have the power to move the major weight-supporting beam._

_His brother is crying, and coughing, and so is Scout as he collapses next to Duncan out of exhaustion, ignoring his brother’s plea to just leave him and get out. Scout’s mind is hazy and fading out when a loud banging alerts him to running feet, and soon a fireman is standing in view, a gas mask on and an axe in hand; Scout takes vague notice and makes a note of the resemblance he shares to Pyro._

_A flash, the scene changes; Scout, he’s older again, his good ol’ 20 years of age, the hole in his chest still evident and bleeding. He knows this scene, and with fear in his heart and tears on his cheeks, Scout looks up to see Pyro starring him down; those, now cold, soulless goggles boring through him as the Firebug raises his gun and touches the barrel to Scout’s forehead. “S…Sparky,” The runner clamors back, only for a new inferno to begin blazing around them in a vicious circle. The gun is cocked with a noisy click, “ **No stop!** P-Pyro please…” He has never sounded so weak and pathetic, never experienced his body shaking out of unbridled fear before, never felt hot tears boil over his stinging eyes as he looks down the barrel of a gun his friend is holding, surely awaiting what will be his permanent demise. Scout chokes out a whimper, grabbing hold of Pyro’s other arm, “Pyro p-please we’re friends! Why would you d-do this to me! This can’t be you…t-tell me **this can’t fuckin’ be yo-** “ A loud bang echoes throughout his skull and everything in his sight goes black._

**”Ahhh!”**

Pyro grabs ahold of Scout’s shoulders as he springs forward, cold sweat drenching his thin body and a temperature pounding against his forehead; his wide, blue eyes are pale and his pupils are mere dots within his irises. His expression is terrified and traumatized as he does nothing but breathe heavily and stare off into nothingness for a few prolonged seconds. 

“Oy, kid. You alroight?” Sniper asks from his place behind Pyro, pulling his canteen off his belt and offering it to Scout. After his terrible dream fades from his mind, the Bostonian turns his gaze and meets the one that tormented his nightmare; first he feels a crippling fear dance across his sensitized emotions, he can feel the fire licking his skin once again as if he were still in that burning house from 4 years ago. But seeing the Firebug he had become friends with sitting there, as if nothing was wrong made him angry enough to lash out and kick the Pyro away from his bed and into Sniper, who keeps his ground but nearly topples over.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Scout growls, getting to his feet and knocking Sniper’s canteen out of his hands.

“Oy, wot’s crawled into your camper and died? Pyro’s done nothin’ but care for ya’ the past couple days and you’ve done nothin’ but act bat-shit crazy!” The Australian snaps, helping the Firebug’s to his feet and grabbing his fallen canteen in the process. Unable to form a good enough response, Scout goes with the most obscure one his frazzled emotions can force from his mouth.

“That _thing_ shot me! Two days ago, he fuckin’ shot me when I was trying to help him! And don’t you dare fuckin’ say it don’t matter cos we can Respawn an’ shit; it does fuckin’ matter because he fucking knows how rough I had it! At first I thought it was the fuckin’ BLU Spy, but I watched Snipes shoot him like a goddamn minute before it happened; there’s no way he could have Respawned that fast! But Pyro obviously jus’ wanted to see how far he could push me! Well not anymore, you are not fucking with ma’ brain!” 

Pyro and Sniper stand unmoving and shocked in the middle of his bedroom, taking a quick glance at one-another and then back at Scout, who straight-up ignores their befuddled expressions. He jumps off his bed and grabs one of his old jackets before storming from the room fuming and upset, leaving two shell-shocked mercenaries in his wake. 

_Motherfucker Boston what’s wrong with you?_

The Firebug gets his footing again and takes a restless pace towards the door, only to have a hand snag the back of his suspenders and pull him back. “Perhaps it’s better to give the kid some space, alroight?” Sniper tries to smile reassuringly, unsuccessfully, but Pyro appreciates the friendly gesture regardless.

_I never shot you Boston, I promise…I thought we were friends…_

It is cold outside, not freezing, but perhaps a bit too cold for an early March night; Scout curses his naivety for thinking running outside in sweatpants and a light jacket was a good idea, especially when he begins to feel his nostrils strain to intake air due to the blocked passages. He sighs, the possibility that he overreacted playing at the back of his mind, but his still aching midsection erased any hesitations on the matter. He ends up at the door of the RED base and leans his shoulder against the cold metal of the warehouse doors, looking up at the clear skies above Turbine and trying to calm his overactive anger. 

Sniper is not able to keep Pyro from leaving for long and the Firebug is out searching the expanse of their base for his friend, wanting nothing more than to clear the air and get some clarification. Unfortunately he searches the rear of the base, assuming the runner is not dumb enough to head towards the two team’s shared territory. Around the courtyard and through each well-walked hallway and still there is no sign of Scout, and after a good 20 minutes of aimlessly walking, unable to call out for the Bostonian, Pyro stops and sits down on a pile of scrap wood. His guilt eats him from the inside, and he is not even sure what he did. 

 

He supposes he fucked up pretty bad, or just spooked the kid, doesn’t matter though, nothing much he can do about it. Pyro sighs once again, and kicks a rock clear across the courtyard, almost launching it into Spy’s forehead; said Frenchman takes a drag from his cigarette and shares in the Firebug’s sighing. “ _Mon ami_ , you cannot be so upset.” Spy tries again to sooth the Pyro’s frustrated spirits. “Ze boy, Scout, ‘e is simply a bit shaken up.” The Firebug barely acknowledges the Spook walking up next to him, having had a feeling he was standing there since he entered the courtyard. After a moment of silence Spy sits down next to Pyro, close enough for their shoulders to touch and for Pyro to smell the smoke from the other’s fag.

“For some reason ‘e is scared of you, for reasons I cannot quite pick out. ‘e seems to believe you shot ‘im, which I highly doubt you would ever do.” Spy mumbles, his brown eyes drifting down to look at his Firebug whilst trying not to look too concerned for him. “Hm, well perhaps I should talk to ze boy,” He chuckles, drawing a downdraught-looking Pyro’s attention up to him. “After all I recently had to give Sniper a piece of my mind. I was disguised as ‘ze BLU Spy a couple days ago and ‘e mistook me for my counterpart and shot me in ‘ze ‘ead.”

_Wait!_

\-- _At first I thought it was the fuckin’ BLU Spy, but I watched Snipes shoot him like a goddamn minute before it happened_ \--

Pyro turns fully to Spy and grabs one of his shoulders, signing something so frantically the Frenchman cannot pick up the majority of the message. “ _Mon amour_ you must slow down I cannot underst-“ He does not get to finish because Pyro ripped off his mask and smashed their lips together, quickly and quite enthusiastically; and when the Firebug pulls back and replaces his mask, Spy is still a little dazed and does not comprehend being grabbed by the wrist and pulled back through the base. 

In the front of the base Scout has resorted to tapping his foot against the ground, arms crossed and still trying to straighten his emotions, and mind, out. Heavy footfalls and the noisy click of expensive dress shoes catch the young runner’s attention, and the anger he has been trying so thoroughly to restrain boils over when he sees Pyro running up to him, with a bemused-looking Spy in tow. He grabs his bat out of reflex and holds it firmly in his grim and glares daggers at his so-called ‘friend’. “Woah, woah, woah stay away from me man! I don’t wanna’ fuckin’ talk to you! You either Frenchy.” 

Pyro throws his hands up and does a simple sign that he knows Scout will understand; patting his chest quickly then forming his hand to a fist and making small circles over the same area on his chest.

_’I’m sorry!’_

Scout contemplates this for a moment but his eyes only narrow and he readies his bat more so in his hands, “Naw man, I-I ain’t listenin’ to you! I jus’ need some time to my fuckin’ self! Can I just have that please!” He is practically screaming as he grips the handle of his bat so hard his knuckles go white under the strain. 

“Scout do calm down, I ‘ave to explain something important.” Spy snaps whilst pulling out a fresh cigarette and lighting it nonchalantly. “You remember when you watched Sniper shoot ze BLU Spy? And zhat is why you think it was Pyro who hurt you.” The runner nods, his vice-grip on the Louisville Slugger loosening in the slightest as he listens. “Well that was not actually ze BLU Spy, zhat was me, disguised as my counterpart for tactical reasons. My disguise kit was ‘aving some problems and I could not un-disguise, I was ‘eaded back to Resupply when Sniper shot me.” He takes a deep breathe through his cigarette and blows out a cloud of white smoke. “Your assailant ze o’zer day was most likely ze actual RED Spy; ‘e was not going through Respawn, ‘e was most likely trailing me as Pyro.” 

Pyro takes a step forward and places a hand on the runner’s bat, pushing gently until he lowers it, an aghast look covering his face along with confusion and surmountable guilt. For perhaps the millionth time in the past two days, Scout allows the encounter to replay in his mind; this time with a clear head he is able to clearly note everything that was off. The way ‘Pyro’ had signed was slow and messy, his body language completely off from normal, and then the blue smoke.

Blue smoke?

“It was the BLU Spy…wasn’t it…?” Scout drops his bat with a noisy clatter and takes a step away, rubbing his head and down casting his gaze. “I’m…fuck I’m real sorry Sparky…goddammit I was so stupid.” The runner digs the heel of his hand into his forehead, still avoiding eye-contact with either of his teammates. Pyro steps forward and places a hand on his friend’s shoulder comfortingly, a silent assurance of _”No hard feelings.”_

Spy cannot help it as a distance smile draws the corners of his mouth up, it is none of his business but he is quite glad his young teammates will be clearing the air. The moment is interrupted suddenly, and his stone-cold façade is shattered when an all-too familiar red dot crawls up Scout’s back and then skips to Pyro’s chest, where it slowly slides up to the middle of his head. 

Scout swears he saw something flicker over his peripheral vision and he looks up just in time to see the same red dot move up and stop on the Firebug’s forehead. “Holy fuck!” His entire body tenses as he immediately puts two-and-two together and concludes his pointless yelling probably woke up the BLU’s ever-sensitive Sniper. Spy is the first to react as his highly-formed instincts kick-in and he throws himself in front of both of his shorter compatriots, grabbing Scout’s shoulders from behind and pushing him forward into Pyro which knocks them both out of the way. There is still a rifle shot and it does not fail in hitting another body, though despite the new pain burning into Spy’s back between his shoulders, he is quite glad the bullet did not hit its initial target. 

“ _Courir vite d'idiots!_ ” Spy orders through his clenched teeth as he grabs Pyro by his suspenders and Scout by the hood of his jacket and pushes them both back away from the large doorway of the warehouse. There is another shot; this one manages to burry a painful bullet in Spy’s shoulder, which only allows the saboteur to chuckle at the BLU Sniper’s lack of accuracy at the time-being. 

Scout is already by the door leading to the personal quarters when Pyro returns to the Frenchman’s side and offers his shoulder to lean on, putting a careful hand on Spy’s back below one of the bullet holes. “Thanks Spook, you alright man?” The Bostonian asks loudly, the adrenaline still pumping through him in waves. 

“Yes, yes I am fine, just get Medic for me.” Spy waves his hand dismissively, leaning on Pyro a bit more reliantly than he would like to admit. The runner nods before running back into the base at full-speed towards the Medical Wing, where Medic is most likely sitting awake at his desk working diligently. 

Once Spy is situated in the Med’ Bay, Pyro steps out to give them space and casts his gaze around the low-lit area in search of Scout, though there is no sign of him there, nor is he in his room. The Firebug cannot think exactly where the runner would run off to until he hears the soft, yet resounding, footsteps of cleats against the metal roof above. He makes his way up to the roof via the steel ladder on the side of the base, and sure-enough he finds the young Bostonian sitting on the edge of the roof facing the inner courtyard, his legs dangling off the side. Pyro makes his way over, quietly, and sits down next to the younger mercenary and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry man; I was a total douchebag to you. Just like I was when we first met. I’m fuckin’ sorry.” Scout murmurs, crossing his arms defensively in front of him. Pyro chuckles, there is no sound, but his shoulder shake lightly as he does so which catches the Scout’s attention. 

Pyro points at the other with his right hand, then flattens the same hand and brings it back beside his head and motions his fingers out and forward. He takes the same hand and singles out his pointer finger, flipping his hand to where the back of his closed fingers face upwards; he then makes a couple small circles in the air with his single raised finger. The Firebug then flattens his hand again and touches it sideways to the front of his mask-vent then to the left side of his head; he finishes up the sign as he taps three times on his chest with a flat palm, then lifting the pointer fingers on both of his hands and tapping them together once, then flipping their positions and tapping them together again. 

_’You will always be my friend.’_

Every sign is done slowly and carefully so Scout does not misinterpret, which proves successful when a joyous smile pulls at Scout’s previously forlorn face. Pyro throws an arm around the other mercenary and gives him a tight side-hug, smiling to himself at the little undignified squeak it brings out of Scout. He manages to wiggle away from Pyro’s hold and leans back a bit, a smile still held on his face.

It is Scout’s turn to sign; he brings his right hand up in front of him, parallel to his lap and closes all his fingers together at the ends and drags his hand to his right. He then points to Pyro before patting his chest three times. 

_’And you mine.’_

Pyro points his index finger out again and makes a few small circular motions before he playfully punches Scout’s arm, an unseen grin planted on his lips.

_’Always.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it, the cheesiest ending I could work up. I really hope you enjoyed the story, thank you everyone for the kudos and the supportive comments, I had quite a bit of fun writing this. Have a good one readers! :)


End file.
